


the lede

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Empire Never Fell, Bad Guys Won a Long Time Ago, First Aid, Hurt/Comfort, Imperial Ben Solo, Imperial Poe Dameron, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Injuries, Senator Ben Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-06 00:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15874800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “You know you’re just making this weird, right?” Ben said, plain, eyes wide with innocence. And that was all well and good for him. He wasn’t the one who’d have to take his shirt off just to get manhandled for ‘a couple of minutes.’





	the lede

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musamihi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/gifts).



“Have you ever once considered not being an idiot?” Ben asked, doing that thing he always did where he barged into the places he was least wanted and acted like he owned the place. Poe hated it and from the way his teeth ground together in frustration, his teeth hated it, too. His arms ached from how tightly crossed they were. He was afraid, maybe, to relax, feared that he would fly apart at the seams, lose whatever self-control remained to him and permanently damage his reputation and Ben’s face in the process.

Much easier to stare out the window, count the tail lights of every shuttle and speeder that flew past. Ignore his quarters and how much smaller they felt now that Ben has infiltrated them.

“I don’t want you here right now,” Poe answered, voice vibrating on the edge of insubordination, “Senator.”

A glass clinked as a cube of ice was dropped into the bottom of it and was followed by the glugging noise of too much alcohol being poured. The good shit, no doubt, because Ben drank nothing but the good shit. And that included Poe’s good shit even though it chipped way deeper into his paycheck than it would have into Ben’s. Drawing in a deep breath, Poe willed himself to calm down. It wasn’t Ben’s fault that he was a clueless politician. He just grew up that way, groomed, primed for greatness in the Imperial Senate. Of course he took liberties.

That was just what the Empire did.

Like grandfather, like grandson.

“I know you don’t.” And Ben was so at ease with that fact. Poe might as well have recited that the sky was blue and Imperial Center was looking particularly congested today. He wasn’t invested in Poe’s foul mood or disinterest in his company. In fact, Poe could see the secretive smile that no doubt pulled at the corner of Ben’s mouth as his boots plodded across the carpet.

Ben liked it when Poe was being difficult almost as much as Poe liked having someone with whom he could be difficult.

Ben held out the glass, overfull just as Poe expected, and waited for Poe to take it. The liquid climbed nearly half the glass. This was a drink meant to be savored, a finger or two at a time at most.

When Poe dared to glance over at him, he had the audacity to look back with something like fond patience, fake as anything. Ben was patient about nothing, though he’d gotten good at pretending over the years. Working for the government did that. Even Poe had learned how to swallow his own impetuousness. Most of the time. Because he was little more than a puppet for the regime himself at this point.

“You look like shit,” Ben said, falsely pleasant, as though that would somehow improve Poe’s mood. “Did you even go to medical?”

Poe snorted. “You know the answer to that.”

“Well.” When Poe didn’t take the drink, he looked down into it, contemplative, before swallowing over half of it in one go. “You cleaned up a bit at least. That’s something.”

There was a joke in this somewhere if Poe was in the mood to play. “If you’re done insulting me, I’d really love it if you’d go.”

“I don’t think I can.” Ben’s breath crackled and hitched as he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing the heel of his hand against his eye. It was weakness that moved him, a weakness that Poe had allowed to grow until he couldn’t tell where the edges of his own weakness met up with it anymore.

When they were younger, Poe hated Ben for what he had, for what he could do. Blamed him for sharing blood with Lord Vader, for escaping the same fate that so many other children born of Rebellion heroes shared. A little older than that—sometime after Poe realized Ben liked him—Poe realized he could use Ben. He missed those times. They were so much simpler.

Poe didn’t know what he felt now. Love might have been the neatest encapsulation of it. At least that would’ve made sense.

The ice clinked in the glass again. And it was only now that Poe realized that Ben’s hand was shaking. Good fucking grief.

“Senator—” No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. Ben was too close, too vulnerable for Poe to use his title. “Ben. I’m fine, okay. It was nothing. You’ve gone through worse. Hell, I’ve gone through worse. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Ben’s lips thinned and his eyes flashed with angry disbelief. He placed the glass on the edge of the windowsill, annoying Poe further. It would only leave a ring on the utilitarian durasteel that Poe would have to clean up unless he wanted a demerit. 

He’d thought he’d be done with this once he left the Academy, but he’d finally learned that this shit would never be done for kids of Rebellion traitors. It wasn’t enough that they’d lost, that every last Rebel they could get their hands on was punished to the fullest extent of Imperial law. No. He still risked a demerit when every other lieutenant his age had moved on to relaxing their standards a little bit. 

But Poe had goals. And those goals required him to be the perfect Imperial golden boy. 

Picking up the glass, he drained it and used his sleeve to wipe up the water before setting it on the carpet where it couldn’t stain anything. Ben probably didn’t even stop to think why Poe might have done that.

Instead Ben reached for him and when Poe tried to twist out of his touch, a sharp lance of pain climbed his side. He wasn’t quick enough to stifle his surprised gasp or the flutter of his hand to cover his injured ribs. When he looked up at Ben, he saw nothing but guilt and regret in the depths of Ben’s ridiculous brown eyes. “You’re not my bodyguard,” he said. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” Poe said, because he was there. Of course he was there. He was at Ben’s side more often than not, tagged along as a member of his detail or as an attaché or simply because Ben asked him to. This was what he did. It was his job to be there. He’d known Ben for years now and he would always be the guy pulling a stupid stunt to save him. That was just who Poe’d become.

It was the only satisfaction he found in his work, rare—luckily—though the situation was. Not many people were as bold as the man now cooling his heels in Imperial custody. As glad as he was that Ben wasn’t out there risking his life, Poe sometimes wondered if people had just given up. Then again, Lord Vader was a scary, scary man. Could Poe really blame them?

He remembered a lot more anger when he was younger. Or maybe it was just him.

“It’s just a graze,” Poe said, pressing because he wanted Ben to go away and the fastest way to do that was to be dismissive of him and his concerns. If he felt dumb, then he’d slink off and brood about it for a while. “Slap a bacta patch on it and it’ll be as good as healed in a few hours.”

Ben’s eyebrow crawled up his forehead in slow disbelief. “Did you do that?”

Poe, frowning, averted his gaze. His shoulder blades itched with the need to move, to lash out. Ben would have been the perfect target. No, of course he hadn’t fucking done that yet.

With a high, whistling huff, Ben stormed toward the ‘fresher to grab Poe’s medkit. Joke was on him though. Poe couldn’t remember the last time he’d even opened it, let alone the last time he’d restocked it. But when he emerged, he carried a couple of wipes, anesthetic and antiseptic both, and a bacta patch.

“No.” Poe’s heart thundered against his chest. Blood rushed in his ears, pounded against his temple. The thought of Ben touching him right now just wasn’t working for him. “Get the hell out of here with those.”

Raising his hands, he brandished the supplies a little more obviously. “Are you going to take care of it?”

“Yes!”

“Liar,” he said, but he sounded painfully fond again. Poe hated it. He didn’t want Ben to be fond. He wanted Ben indignant and, more importantly, gone. “Come on, it’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

“Most senators are more concerned with attending parties and securing funding for their pet projects. They don’t hang out with glorified foot soldiers with no wars to fight,” Poe pointed out. Backing up a few steps, he managed to knock over the glass. So much for no spills. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be annoyed about that. “Where the hell did you go wrong?”

“Most senators don’t get everything handed to them because of who their grandfather is,” Ben answered, far more insightful than he had any right to be. It wasn’t an accusation Poe would have leveled at him, knowing how hard Ben worked, but it was such a common refrain that even people who weren’t invested in politics could parrot it. Still, Poe’s heart squeezed. Ben had it easy in a lot of ways, but even Poe had to admit he’d be pretty frustrated, too, if he could skate by on his connections for everything. “Gotta fill the free time somehow.”

Poe rolled his eyes and crossed his arms and very distinctly ignored the throbbing pain in his side.

Next time, he’ll brood after doing the bare minimum to keep Ben off his back. 

“You know you’re just making this weird, right?” Ben said, plain, eyes wide with innocence. And that was all well and good for him. He wasn’t the one who’d have to take his shirt off just to get manhandled for ‘a couple of minutes.’

This would go nowhere good and very fast, but Poe’s resolve slipped and fell down a ravine, broke its ankle and languished there to die a slow, lonely death. He could fight it or he could put it out of its misery. “Fucking fine,” he said, entirely aware that he was sounding like a petulant child. “Do your worst.”

Ben tossed the patch and cloths at Poe’s bed and indicated that he sit down there, too. 

Poe wanted to scoff, but he settled for glaring, tugging at his collar in lieu of actually freeing the clasps that held his jacket closed.

“Here,” Ben said, “let me.”

“I’m not a child.” But Poe went and, worst of all, he leaned into Ben’s touch as Ben’s fingers grazed his neck. His blood battered through every inch of his body, turning the ache of his wound into a torrent of pain, though less unpleasurable than he might have hoped. Some people liked shit like this to hurt. Poe generally wasn’t one of them. Not that this shit meant anything more than what Ben intended to do, which was patch Poe up. Or that Ben was going to—

It wasn’t like that between them. Even if sometimes Poe wanted it to be, pondered it late at night when the lights of Imperial Center were too bright and the sounds were too loud and he was alone with nothing to accompany him except his thoughts. Despite knowing better, at those moments, he wanted Ben’s hands on him.

Kind of the same way he wanted Ben’s hands on him now, too.

Ben, unlike Poe, was sure as he unclasped the various pieces of the jacket and pushed it off of his shoulders and then unbuttoned his shirt with ease, shoving that off of his shoulders, too. With hardly a moment’s hesitation, he gripped Poe’s undershirt and tugged it up his body. “You just like to act like one. Lift your arms.”

“It’s nothing.” But Poe hisses as a fresh stripe of pain lashes up his side as the fabric of his undershirt grazed his wound. He was monumentally glad he’d changed before Ben had barged in here. Glad, too, that there was no blood on this shirt.

He could say this about blaster bolts. If they didn’t hit you dead-on, they were almost humane. Didn’t leave behind terrible messes.

Ben whistled, eyes a little wide as he stared down at the wound. If Poe looked, he’d see a long, angry mark scored into his skin, a slash that caught him from mid-ribs and curved down his back just a little.

That was what he got for twisting out of the way, or trying to.

“I’m never going to believe another word you say,” Ben said. “They call politicians liars, but we’ve got nothing on you.”

“Enough with the editorializing,” Poe answered. He failed to suppress a shiver, partly due to the chill of the air against his exposed skin and partly due to the lightness of Ben’s touch as he prodded the area around the burn. “I have better things to do than listen to you.”

“Since when?”

“Since always.”

Without bothering to warn him, Ben swiped the anesthetic wipe across Poe’s skin. The chill of it shouldn’t have surprised him and yet he jumped. The momentary sting of pain was more expected. He gritted his teeth and inhaled through his nose until it subsided, reducing to a dull ache and then nothing at all.

Poe relaxed. He hadn’t realized how much it still hurt until it didn’t hurt at all.

He would never ever admit it to Ben, but he was grateful for the reprieve.

“It seems to me,” Ben said, reaching for the antiseptic, “that’s not true at all. Otherwise why put up with me?”

There were a lot of good reasons, all of them political, all of them wildly bullshit. Sure, nearly everyone else Ben knew only tolerated him because they thought doing so was worth their while or that not doing so would end with them imprisoned or worse. The only reason that was true—for Poe anyway—was the one reason he absolutely did not want to admit to.

And though Poe could’ve trotted out all those very good reasons and given Ben a taste of the real world, he couldn’t do that either.

“Poe?”

“You’re not normally this conversational,” Poe said. “Maybe get on with this, huh, Mr. ‘It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’”

Ben’s mouth twitched, but he ducked his head and shut up, peeling the bacta patch free of its backing as slowly as humanly possible. Really, what in the hell was wrong with him? If Poe didn’t know any better, he’d have said Ben was dragging his feet on purpose.

But that was ridiculous. Ben had no reason to linger over wound care. “You mind getting a move on? It’s freezing in here.”

“I could warm you up,” Ben murmured, too casual, with nothing more than negligence to hold his tongue. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence that followed, though. After a moment, Ben even seemed to notice what he said—and immediately finished peeling the patch free. It was a good thing the anesthetic had had a chance to work, because the way Ben so heavy-handedly slapped it against his skin would’ve been very painful otherwise.

Without anything else to do, Ben didn’t seem to know where to go or what to do. He twisted the detritus of the patch between his hands and stared at the floor. And though any reasonable human being would have probably put as much distance between them as possible, Ben didn’t move.

Poe had to give it to him. He committed to his courses of action. “You what now?” Poe asked, wary and hopeful in turns. Unlike Ben, he was forced to think things through. It wasn’t his natural inclination. He did so enjoy being impulsive after all. And he wanted this so much that he could feel it growing inside of him, spreading to fill every inch of him with ill-conceived desire. 

This had bad news written all over it. 

And Poe wanted to take him up on it anyway.

They made for good friends, but this sort of shit never ended well. Poe’d never managed to keep a significant other for more than a few months anyway. And that was when they were just normal people, civilians even, the kind of people who might, somewhere deep down inside, have an axe to grind against the Empire. Not Lord Vader’s precious grandson.

He couldn’t pretend all the time that he believed in it. What would he do if he had to start pretending with Ben? Even if it was only to keep him safe?

“You’re not that stupid,” Ben said, voice teetering on the edge of brittleness. “You heard me.”

Poe’s stomach flipped and his nerves twisted inside of him. He didn’t have much cause to fly these days, but this felt so much like it that his teeth ached from how tightly he clenched his jaw to keep himself from blurting out something rash. His fingers twitched toward Ben, still so close to him. Still, broad and solid, Ben looked like he would be there forever.

Could he let himself have this? The steady certainty of Ben’s gaze made him believe it was possible. There was nothing that had to change; they could go on just the same as they’ve always done, but even better.

If it backfired, well. It wasn’t like Poe wasn’t already wasting himself for the Empire.

Might as well have a bit of fun before he burned out entirely for no stars’ damned reason.

“I think I might be,” Poe said and then wetted his lips before trying to swallow around the sudden dryness in his throat. “I didn’t know you felt anything for me.” He fought the urge to wince. How much more pathetic, plaintive could he have sounded? What was this? A schoolyard crush?

“I guess,” Ben said slowly, dragging in a deep breath that was audible, “that makes sense.” With a bitter laugh, he shook his head. “I should have thrown myself at you years ago, then.” His eyes found Poe’s with more reluctance than even Poe felt. “I always thought you weren’t interested.”

Now would have been the perfect opportunity to lie through his fucking teeth. Lie until Ben believed it. And this sort of thing was easy to lie about it. Ben had half convinced himself of it already. The sensible thing would be to turn him down. _You’re right_ , he could say, _I’m not_.

“I thought you could read minds?” It was all some of Poe’s Imperial colleagues could talk about. How and when and what the handful of Force users—meaning Vader, meaning Ben, meaning Ben’s mother and uncle before they’d found themselves captured and neutralized after the ill-fated Battle of Jakku. No doubt there were others out there, but they kept quiet, no doubt eeking out whatever existence they could on whichever backwater was least likely to draw Imperial attention. Poe found the preoccupation completely ridiculous. It wasn’t like a whole Republic had existed for over three-thousand years during which Force users wielded a great deal more power than even the Imperial leadership swung about on a daily basis. They might have gone to shit at the end there, but it wasn’t a foregone conclusion.

Even so, Poe was perversely relieved by Ben’s restraint. He didn’t need to know what was going on in Poe’s head. Especially not right now.

“If I want to.” Ben’s hand came up to rub at his opposite shoulder as he looked away. “I try not to make a habit of it with people I ca—” He glanced back at Poe, daring, willing Poe to deny him. “With people I care about.”

Poe raised his hands in surrender. So fine. Ben was a principled Force user. Good to know.

“This is a bad idea,” Poe pointed out. Maybe if he appealed to Ben’s sense, they’d get out of this unscathed.

“A lot of the things we do are bad ideas.”

“But this is a really bad one.” Poe’s hands sketched a vague shape in the air that he mentally labeled ‘Bad Idea.’ “You have to know that.”

“Maybe I don’t give a shit anymore. Poe, I—I thought you were dead. You didn’t even hesitate to take that bolt. I have security for a reason. You’re not—it wasn’t supposed to be you.”

“So some other poor sucker has to take it for you? I wasn’t trying to get shot, you asshole. I just wanted you out of the way. I got unlucky.” Scrubbing at his arm, Poe grimaced as he realized he was still shirtless. “It happens.”

“Not to you.”

“Because you care about me.” Poe didn’t scoff, but it was a very near thing. Ben was being ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. They couldn’t just—

But he wanted it. So badly. Knowing that Ben felt the same way—and had, for a long time—just twisted a knife in Poe’s gut, a fresh burst of pain blooming inside of him, one that couldn’t easily be managed to a copiously stocked medkit.

“I’m willing to be selfish about this,” was all Ben would say. But he finally got his hands under him, ready to push himself up. “And I won’t be ashamed of the fact that I don’t want you harmed. But go ahead and—forget it. Forget I said anything.”

He only managed to get halfway there before Poe’s hand shot out and caught him around the wrist. Ben’s pulse fluttered and pounded against Poe’s fingers, growing stronger and faster as Poe held him. “Ben. Wait.”

Though Poe could tell Ben wanted to wrench his hand away, he didn’t. Instead, he took his seat again and peered, now wary, too, at Poe. He did as Poe asked: he waited. He waited until Poe’s breath hitched before he reached up to take Poe’s face in his hands, card his fingers through the curls at the base of Poe’s neck.

Poe turned his face into it, fitted his cheek into Ben’s palm. His teeth scraped across the curve of Ben’s hand.

“Kriff it,” Poe said, grabbing Ben’s wrist and turning it to scrape his teeth against the ligaments and tendons, press a kiss against the soft, vulnerable skin. “You want this, I want this.” He smiled, relief flooding through him at giving in, like bringing a starship into a deep, swooping dive. There wasn’t a consequence in the Empire that mattered to Poe right now. This was a weakness that could be exploited and Poe didn’t give a single damn. “Let’s do it.”

The grin that Ben offered him might one day be worth it. 


End file.
